


The Bang List

by GiggleSnortBangDead



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Honey I Queered The Celebrities, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, light bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24902893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiggleSnortBangDead/pseuds/GiggleSnortBangDead
Summary: When Crowley and Aziraphale discover they both slept with Lou Reed, they each write down a list of everyone they Knew in the 20th Century and compare notes.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Others, Crowley/others
Comments: 21
Kudos: 99





	The Bang List

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinafortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinafortuna/gifts).



> big shoutout to [pinafortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinafortuna) who basically came up with the idea for this fic and supplied a lot of the people on the lists.

Crowley was reading some retrospective piece in a magazine he’d pinched from Tesco. They were claiming to rank the Top 50 Rock ‘n Roll Bands Of All Time, and he just _knew_ they were going to put The damn Beatles as No. 1, and he felt like getting righteously angry. Aziraphale was doddering around behind him, dusting or shelving or inventorying the books, and Crowley was on bands No. 35 and 34.

“Oh, my!” Aziraphale said, closer to his ear than Crowley has realized. He craned his neck back to look at Aziraphale, whose blue eyes were bright and wide. “Is that Lewis?” 

He looked back down at the glossy magazine page. Band No. 34: The Velvet Underground, with a black and white photo of Nico and Lou Reed.

“Wot?” Crowley said, a little dumbstruck.

“Why, yes, that _is_ Lewis!” Aziraphale took the magazine out of his hands and came to sit beside Crowley on the couch. “Goodness, I haven’t seen him since—well, 1966, I’d have to guess. And, goodness me, he was in a band! And it seems he’s well regarded. Well done, Lewis! He said he was a musician you know, but everyone was a musician back in 1966.” Aziraphale laughed, high and delighted, finally looking at Crowley. He dropped his cheer for confusion. “Is something wrong, Crowley?” 

“You knew Lou Reed?” Crowley garbled out.

“He introduced himself as Lewis, but if that,” he pointed at the picture, “Is Lou Reed, then yes! In fact,” Aziraphale said, leaning in conspiratorially, grinning like the slyest and cutest tart in lockup. “I _knew_ him quite well. If you catch my meaning.” 

“Gurh, _yeah_ , I get it.” Crowley’s head was spinning. Aziraphale had fucked Lou Reed. Since the start of their committed and regular shagging (relationship was such a stuffy word and it made Crowley feel a bit hot behind the eyes), Aziraphale had dropped a few past lovers on Crowley: Sappho, Brother Francis, nearly half of London’s particular gentlemen during the late-1800s. All unsurprising and categorically Aziraphale choices. 

Crowley had never considered that they might have inadvertently slept with the same people.

“Are you jealous?” Aziraphale looked a little worried. “I know you have The Velvet Undergrowth’s compact disc in the Bentley. Should I not have said? Oh, I shouldn’t have, should I?” Aziraphale started to wring his hands, which finally got Crowley to staring.

“Me too,” Crowley rushed.

“Pardon?” 

“I knew him too,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale looked surprised. “Lewis?” 

Crowley groaned. “Yes, _Lou Reed_. In 1969. They were touring. I snuck backstage.”

“Oh, Crowley, you harlot!” Aziraphale said, flush with affection.

“Ngk. Don’t you think it’s weird?” 

“What, dear?” Aziraphale asked, flipping to the next page, his face scrunching a little when he didn’t know who KISS or Fleetwood Mac were. 

“That we both… you know?” Crowley nearly snatched the magazine out of Aziraphale’s hands, afraid he might flip another page and say _Oh, look, my good friend Ozzy, who I had a nice little tumble with back in 1974_.

Aziraphale closed the magazine himself and set it aside. “It’s not like you and I have been particularly chaste over the years. It was bound to happen at least once. In fact, I’m sure it’s happened more times. Dozens, even!” 

Crowley felt lightheaded. “How can you be so sure?” 

“It only makes sense! You and I have so much in common; it’s why we’re so drawn to each other. Why wouldn’t we gravitate towards similar humans?” 

“Yeah,” Crowley sputtered, “Of course.” 

“Darling,” Aziraphale placed a hand over Crowley’s. “Are you really upset? I think it’s rather sweet.”

“Ngk. I guess I just wasn’t expecting Lou Reed.” Crowley was quiet for a moment. “You really think it happened more than once?” 

“Absolutely!” Aziraphale looked tickled at the idea. “After all, you and I do find ourselves in the company of influential figures quite often.” 

“You make us sound like celebrity chasers.” Crowley grinned. 

“Well,” Aziraphale shrugged, “When the job called for it, we were.” 

Crowley wracked his brain and then asked: “Did you sleep with Marlon Brando?” 

Aziraphale pulled back, surprised. “No! Did you?”

“Mm. What about Ray Davies?” 

“ _Who?_ ”

“From The Kinks. Er…” Crowley snatched the magazine and flipped to No. 48. He pointed at the photo. “Him.”

“No—Crowley, you can’t just list everyone you’ve been intimate with until we come up with a match. That could take hours!” 

“What about, uh… Jean…. Jean Cocteau?” 

Aziraphale fell silent, lips parted. “All right,” he said after a moment. “So maybe not hours.” 

Crowley laughed. “This is incredible! Okay, we have to figure out just how often this happened.” He fished around and pulled some paper and pens out of thin air. “Write down everyone!” 

“You haven’t given me enough paper.” 

“Okay, let’s just say 20th Century. Stick to 20th Century celebrities.” Aziraphale frowned, not jumping into action. Crowley paused. “Can you… not remember everyone?” 

Huffing, Aziraphale clicked his pen and started writing. “Of course I can! I’m simply worried I won’t know if they were famous. Like with Lewis.” 

“Okay, then write everyone and we’ll sort it out." Crowley gripped his pen tight, jotting down names fast. “I’ll write non-celebrities too—might have fucked the same milkman for all I know—although I normally don’t fuss with mortals who I can’t add to my signature book.” 

Aziraphale stopped, smiling. “Do you really have a signature book, my dear?”

Crowley felt his face heat, his neck and ears practically burning, but Aziraphale just hummed and went back to slowly, steadily listing names. 

It didn’t take too long, considering. Crowley finished first, and Aziraphale maintained his careful pace. Their lists ended up being about the same length. 

“Now, do we read them out loud and put a check by shared lovers, or should we just exchange lists?” Aziraphale was holding his sheets to his chest so as to not reveal them. Still, there were a few names on the very back which Crowley could read: Mr. Tennessee Williams, Mr. Langston Hughes, Mr. Thornton Wilder. 

“Best we exchange them,” Crowley said, not having the patience for a reading which Aziraphale would likely derail with anecdotes and tea—both of which Crowley would like just fine, but _after_ his curiosity was satisfied. 

His eyes scanned faster than he could read.

“Andy Warhol?” he choked. 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale looked up. He’d put on his ridiculous spectacles. “I went to Sunday mass with him and his mother afterward. Lovely woman. Andy was quite a character. Renata Tebaldi?” he asked with no segue. “The soprano?” 

Crowley’s mouth twitched. “Who else?” 

“Oh, it’s only I knew a baker in Bosa. I just thought — ”

“Mgh, no. The soprano. What’s it mean here: you have Frida Kahlo and Trotsky connected.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale tittered, wiggling in his seat a little. “That was a _menage a trois_.” 

“I didn’t mark my threesomes,” Crowley said in lieu of reacting to that. “Should I go back?” 

“Really?” Aziraphale tipped Crowley’s list to him. “Did you have many?” 

“Well…” Crowley wasn’t sure what “many” was in this context. “Salem and Fassbinder, the once. I had a threesome with Frida, but not, er, Trotsky. Josephine Baker. A few others.” Crowley was starting to feel that he actually hadn’t had very many at all. 

“How fun!” Aziraphale larked. “It says three of the four Beatles here.” 

Crowley frowned. “Yeah.” 

“Ah. A sore spot. Say no more.” Aziraphale turned back to Crowley’s list. 

“You, ahh…” Crowley tried to change the subject, “Bagged Leonard Cohen. Good work, there.” 

“Hardly! I was his guest at the Isle of Wight. There wasn’t any other way for it to have gone, with a man like him. Oh! We share Pasolini!” Aziraphale tapped the paper. 

“Yeah, ‘cept you had him with Terrence Stamp. Really, angel, did you orchestrate all these orgies or does that just naturally happen for you?” 

“Hm, well, you have nearly all of the 1979 New York City Ballet on your list. Was that simultaneously, or did you spread it out over a few days?” 

“Ouch,” Crowley said, but he laughed, and Aziraphale looked less defensive. 

After a moment’s pause, Aziraphale made an affronted sound. “ _Really_ , Crowley? Liberace and Paul Lynde?” 

“Not at the same time!” 

“I simply cannot believe that you have chosen to focus your energy on fussy, fat queens. I have other qualities, you know! And you would never even watch _Hollywood Squares_ with me! Honestly, you have a fetish. I feel fetishized!” 

Crowley gawked. “Gk, well, ehm—What’s this Conrad Veidt thing about, huh? Or, ah, um, Henry Green!” 

“Oh, you look nothing like Henry Green!” 

“But, I look like Veidt.” 

“Yes!” Aziraphale stated. “In _The Man Who Laughs_! Positively ghoulish!” 

“Yes, well, Paul Lynde was a better dresser than you!” 

“Oh!” Aziraphale stormed. Too irate for words, he glared and Crowley quickly felt chilled. 

“I thought we were playfighting,” Crowley said. “Sort of.” 

“We were until you compared me to Paul Lynde! Next you’ll be saying Liberace has better rings than I do!” 

“Of course not,” Crowley snorted. “Besides, you’re the one who brought up Paul Lynde to begin with.” 

“Hm.” Aziraphale’s mouth was still tight, but he didn’t actually look mad anymore. He went back to reading. Crowley was about to find something funny to ask about Rachmaninoff (either: “How was that cockmaninoff?” or “Did he rockmaninoff your world?" He hadn’t decided yet), but Aziraphale started to laugh. “Why is there a question mark after Elton John’s name?”

“Oh.” Crowley grinned. “It was dark.”

“So, you don’t know?” Aziraphale asked, pleased as punch.

“Well, it’s a good chance it was him,” he shrugged. “I was plastered, but I’m pretty sure it was him. Had to have been.” 

“Oh, Crowley, I was just like that for my tryst with Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas. I hardly even remember it! But I woke up in bed with them and there were feathers everywhere, so I have to imagine. You know how I am after cannabis, and Alice had the most marvelous recipe for brownies!” 

“Yes, I know.” 

Aziraphale gasped. “Oh! I have that recipe somewhere. Doesn’t that sound lovely?” Aziraphale put the sheet down without another glance. “Would you be a dear and call your man?” 

“My man? You mean my weed guy?” 

“Yes, obviously.” Aziraphale was up. “Although—let me check—I might have some leftover butter in the fridge!” He was already puttering off to the kitchen.

“Do you want me to call Shadwell or not?” Crowley shouted. 

“No, no, dear! I found it! It was behind the regular butter. Lucky we never mixed those up.” Aziraphale laughed. He popped his head out. “Oh, we could go to your flat! Watch the telly!” 

“ _Hollywood Squares _?”__

__“Who am I to keep you away from your heart’s true desire?” Aziraphale waved him off, already rolling up his sleeves to do the baking. He then stopped with a gasp. “Is _Hollywood Squares_ still on?” _ _

__“No,” Crowley laughed, “But I can get it.”_ _

__“Oh, would you?” And Aziraphale fixed a look at him that made it clear he didn’t understand how easy it was to get old TV shows on the internet. Still, Crowley accepted the look and let it warm him all over._ _

__“For you, yeah,” he said. He set Aziraphale’s list down finally and moved to help him in the kitchen. “I’ll do anything.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Did I leave someone out? Actually you don't know that because I didn't give the full lists: the perfect crime! anyway hope this was fun and maybe gave you a little laugh! take care! 
> 
> ([Follow me on my professional fanfiction twitter](https://twitter.com/gigglesnortPro) or [just come kick it with me on my tumbly](https://gigglesnortbangdead.tumblr.com))


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